“But think of the sea-sickness.”
“Think of being out of sight of commonplace land for days and days together. Think how delightful it must be to be rocked on the great Atlantic rollers, and what a new and pleasant sensation it must be to know that there is only a plank between yourself and the fishes, and yet not to feel the least bit afraid.”
Edward shuddered. “When you wake up in the middle of the night, and hear the wind blowing hard, you will think of me, won’t you?” he said.
“Of course I shall. And I shall wish I were by your side to enjoy it. To be out in a gale on the Atlantic—that must indeed be glorious!”
Edward’s fat cheeks became a shade paler, “Don’t talk in that way, Jane,” he said. “One never can tell what may happen. I shall write to you, of course, and all that; and you won’t forget me while I’m away, will you?”
“No, I shall not forget you, Edward; of that you may be quite sure.”
Then he drew her towards him, and kissed her; and then, after a few more words, he went away.
It was just the sort of parting that his father would have approved of, he said to himself, as he drove down the avenue. No tears, no sentimental nonsense, no fuss of any kind. Privately he felt somewhat aggrieved that she had not taken the parting more to heart. “There wasn’t even a single tear in her eye,” he said to himself. “She doesn’t half know how to appreciate a fellow.”
He would perhaps have altered his opinion in some measure could he have seen Jane half an hour later. She had locked herself in her bedroom, and was crying bitterly. Why she was crying thus she would have found it difficult to explain: in fact, she hardly knew herself. It is possible that her tears were not altogether tears of bitterness—that some other feeling than sorrow for her temporary separation from Edward Cope was stirring the fountains of her heart. She kept on upbraiding herself for her coldness and want of feeling, and trying to persuade herself that she was deeply sorry, rather than secretly—very secretly—glad to be relieved of the tedium of his presence for several weeks to come. She knew how wrong it was of her—it was almost wicked, she thought—to feel thus: but, underlying all her tears, was a gleam of precious sunshine, of which she was dimly conscious, although she would not acknowledge its presence even to herself.
After a time her tears ceased to flow. She got up and bathed her eyes. While thus occupied her maid knocked at the door.